Hermione Granger and the Fact Finding Mission
by i'll-be-a-knight
Summary: Because of nagging doubts plaguing her relationship with Ron, Hermione takes it upon herself to find some answers.  What does she learn along the way?
1. The Doubt

**DISCLAIMER**: The characters, places, and things that are part of the Harry Potter universe all belong to J.K. Rowling, though should she choose to give up ownership of Ron, then I would gladly take him. This particular story, however, is mine.

It was a snowy afternoon as Hermione trudged her way into Hogsmeade. Though it was only the end of November, the holiday spirit is in the air and the jovial mood that only Christmas can bring is almost tangible. It was a feeling she loved and she often wished that there was a way she can bottle it up so she can have it year-round.

Glancing about her, Hermione marveled at how the village was full of laughter and life when just a little over a year ago it had been the direct opposite. The Undesirable posters were now replaced with flowered wreaths and twinkling lights were everywhere, even though the sun was still out. A small group of carolers sang by the Hog's Head pub, their enchanting voices causing passersby to stop and listen.

The palpable energy could be easily attributed to the busyness of the holiday season, but it would be a discredit to the resilience of the survivors who were determined to return to a normal life. Hogsmeade and its inhabitants had recovered nicely after Voldemort's defeat and the end of the war. She walked past the Three Broomsticks and fleetingly thought about warming up with butterbeer, but decided against it. It was sure to be crowded inside. Besides, there will only be one stop in her brief trip today.

She pulled open the door to what used to be Zonko's Joke Shop, now the new and second branch of Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes. Her ears were immediately flooded with the sound of chattering children and random noises that only products in a joke shop would make. It was madness inside and she felt a pang of sympathy for the frenzied parents who would now try to meet their children's demands of Weasley merchandise for Christmas.

In the midst of the chaos was George, now the lone proprietor. He was grinning widely, reveling in the pandemonium as he stood on the stairway that led to the second level. She waved, trying to catch his eye. "George!"

It took a few attempts, but he finally noticed her. "Oi, Hermione!" he called out. "Come on up!" He signaled one of the staff members to watch over the shop.

With much effort, Hermione squeezed her way through the crowd and was somewhat out of breath when she caught up with George, who led her to the space that served as his living quarters. She followed him into the small kitchen.

"I didn't realize it was Hogsmeade weekend," he said, handing her a mug of butterbeer that he'd warmed with his wand. "You're the only student who has stopped by."

She smiled gratefully as she took the drink. "That's because it's not," she informed him after she took a sip. "As Head Girl, I have certain privileges and being able to visit the village whenever I want is one of them."

George took the seat across from her with his own glass of butterbeer. "How could I have forgotten that we have another Head in the family?"

Hermione felt herself blushing. It always disconcerted her, though not in a bad way, whenever she was considered as a member of the Weasley family. She'd known Ron for years and Ginny was like a sister to her, but she could never get used to casual statements like the one George just said. Now that she and Ron were dating, such sentiments meant even more.

"I see the shop is doing well. This store hasn't even been open that long!"

"The Weasley reputation precedes us. Well, I guess it's not 'us' anymore, is it?" George shrugged off the trace of sadness that came over him whenever he was reminded of Fred's death. He understood that the grief would never fully disappear and now considered his habitual struggle with it a part of his daily routine, like brushing his teeth every morning or counting the day's earnings before closing up the shop.

They briefly discussed Hogwarts because George hasn't seen the school since it has been rebuilt, even though he worked in close proximity. It took a year of hard work, but the majestic building was now set to rights. Hermione herself wasn't there the whole time the reconstruction took place, so it was a double pleasure to not only be back at the school, but also to see the finished product. It wasn't as good as new, but the unspoken consensus was that no one wanted it to look that way. It didn't perish in the heat of a major battle, which was another addition to an already impressive legacy, and the survivors felt that the school's future staff and students should always know its place in history. Hogwarts bore its scars proudly.

Out of the three of them, only Hermione decided to finish her final year while Ron and Harry chose other pursuits outside of school. She wanted to continue her education even if she was the oldest seventh year there. After retrieving her parents from Australia, a particularly difficult task that had taken several months, and spending much needed time with them, she was back on the train to Hogwarts on the first of September.

"So, Head Girl, what brings you 'round?" George asked. "Let me guess, you've finally succumbed to my charm and ruggedly handsome good looks."

She snorted before taking another drink. "Come off it."

"It's not that far-fetched! Wouldn't you rather have a wizard who has a hole in his head than in his brain?"

Hermione's lips twitched. "It would depend if the brain is still functional."

George feigned a sigh of great disappointment. "And I thought you were the smart one. I suppose you're here to ask about my baby brother, then?"

She was suddenly filled with nerves. "I'm just—I wonder how he's doing, that's all. I haven't—I haven't heard from him in a while." It has been two months since Pigwidgeon had last flown into the Great Hall to deliver a letter from Ron. The lack of communication and news disturbed her, the silence from his end distracting her so much that she couldn't fully concentrate on her assignments.

Instead of focusing on advanced spells and complicated potions, she spent her time searching her memory for a clue that Ron might be mad at her. When was the last time they had argued? Bickering was second nature to them and a natural part of their relationship, perhaps even vital. Their last argument, if Hermione could recall correctly, was during the Easter holidays at the Burrow. They had been outside so that their voices wouldn't carry. She'd forgotten what it was about; surely it was over some silly, inconsequential thing. She did remember, with astounding clarity, that Ron had diffused it by admitting he was wrong, apologizing, and then yanking her into the broom shed for some mindless snogging. Needless to say, they had lost track of time in the small, dark space, immersed only in each other. It had been Harry who found them hours later, a disarray of tangled limbs, mussed hair and various states of undress. Her mortification was only barely overshadowed by the feeling of acute relief that Mrs. Weasley wasn't the one who opened the door. To this day she still had no idea who was more embarrassed out of the three of them. They could laugh about the moment now, but it had taken about a week after the incident before Harry could look her and Ron in the face.

Hermione could feel the blood warming up her cheeks and hastily drank more butterbeer. It did nothing to cool her suddenly rising temperature. The memory was vivid; she could all but feel Ron's hands all over her, kissing her with an intensity that he reserved for her alone. She could only hope that George didn't notice that her face was suddenly flush with color or ask why she looked overheated.

There had been no harm done with that argument and shortly after the holiday she was on a plane to Australia. They briefly saw each other again before she returned to Hogwarts and Ron went over to Diagon Alley to run the flagship shop, having been assigned there rather than the Hogsmeade branch since George wanted to oversee the new shop himself and felt that Ron would be able to manage the more established location.

They corresponded regularly during the following months, their letters full of longing, humor, and details of their daily lives. But abruptly she'd stopped receiving anything from him and she couldn't figure out why. What made it more puzzling was that his last few notes hadn't tapered in quality or length, which would have given her an indication that something was amiss; the letters simply disappeared altogether.

At first, she'd worried that Ron had fallen ill or perhaps he somehow injured himself while at the shop. But she'd be one of the first to hear about him getting hurt or being bed-ridden. As important as her N.E.W.T. year was, if anything happened to Ron she would drop everything to rush to his side.

Then she figured that another girl must have caught his interest. Diagon Alley was even busier than Hogsmeade; he'd be up to his ears in witches, temptation within reach while she was all the way at Hogwarts. But Ron wouldn't do that, she'd kept insisting to herself whenever the nagging doubts arose. He would never…or would he? The idea that she might not trust him shocked her. Love and trust went hand in hand. How could she love Ron and not have faith that he wouldn't stray? These thoughts grew more and more persistent as each day went by without a word from him.

"If you would have bet me a thousand Galleons that Ron was a talented salesman, I'd have said yes in a trice and been a thousand Galleons richer," George remarked, snapping her out of her reverie. "But I was wrong."

"What?" she said, confused.

"The man is a natural, Hermione! The sales charts don't lie. Ever since he started working there, the numbers have gone up. Products are quite literally flying off the shelves! Of course, my and Fred's genius mustn't be overlooked, not to mention that my baby brother is somewhat considered a war hero and therefore is supposedly a celebrity, I reckon there's a certain appeal to that…" George trailed off thoughtfully.

Hermione nearly shuddered with relief. So it wasn't infidelity that made Ron stop writing her. Relief quickly gave way to annoyance. He was too busy with the shop…and busy being a total thoughtless arse! Couldn't be bothered to pick up a quill, could he? Was it too unreasonable for him to write _Hello, Hermione, I'm very busy working, I__'__m not breaking your heart into a million pieces or anything, don__'__t worry!_ She certainly wasn't asking for much!

Her irritation with Ron didn't stop her from defending him from George's mild and meaningless jabs. "Ron has a certain kind of charm, that's probably why you're selling more products."

"He has something," George remarked. "Whatever it is that causes witches to drape themselves all over him—"

"WHAT?" Hermione exclaimed.

George nearly dropped his mug at her outburst. "Calm down, Hermione," he said cautiously. The murderous look in her eyes made him uneasy. "You're taking it the wrong way."

"Oh, am I? Please explain how I can possibly misinterpret what you said!"

"When I said witches, I meant old witches…like Auntie Muriel!" he backtracked. When Hermione continued to stonily glare at him, he desperately added, "And they can't help but drape themselves all over him when they can hardly stand on their own two feet!" He could tell that she didn't believe him.

Her imagination went into overdrive. She quietly seethed as she thought of Ron, grinning like the bloody idiot he was, surrounded by star-struck witches stupidly fawning over him at the pretense of buying Skiving Snackboxes and Pygmy Puffs. He would enjoy the attention, wouldn't he, she thought miserably. He'd stepped out from the shadows of his brothers' achievements at last and no longer needed to bask in Harry's reflected glory now that he'd made his own mark. The spotlight would finally be his alone.

"Thanks for the drink, George," she said as she stood up. "But I'm afraid I have to get going now. I have a letter to write."

"Wait, Hermione!" But there was a faint popping sound and then she was gone, having Disapparated to just outside the school gates. George cursed. He needed to get a hold of Ron to do damage control, to at least warn him about the oncoming attack of an irate witch. But one of his employees came to retrieve him just then and any thoughts of his younger brother were pushed aside by a demanding customer who wished to purchase his entire stock of Extendable Ears.


	2. The Plan

**DISCLAIMER**: The characters, places, and things that are part of the Harry Potter universe all belong to J.K. Rowling, though should she choose to give up ownership of Ron, then I would gladly take him. This particular story, however, is mine.

Two weeks later, Hermione went back to Hogsmeade again, opting to Apparate directly there instead of taking in the sights like her last trip to the village. She wasn't going to let the holiday cheer distract her; she needed to keep her focus.

After she'd left George weeks ago, she'd thrown herself back into her studies, working feverishly in order to prevent thoughts of Ron from invading her mind. Yet he still managed to sneak in there somehow, the stupid sod, whenever she let herself relax. Visions of Ron flirting with beautiful, nameless girls filled her dreams at night, making her toss and turn restlessly in her bed. She even had a nightmare in which he'd met one of these witches for a passionate lunchtime rendezvous at the Leaky Cauldron.

She was constantly on edge, relying only on books and scrolls of parchment to keep her company. It was reminiscent of her hectic third year when she'd bitten off much more than she could chew. She'd nearly lost her sanity then and barely managed to keep it together. She can't afford to make the same mistake again. But even as she told herself that, her temper continued to snap quickly and often, causing her to shun her friends and handing out detentions to various students over minor infractions that normally warranted just a warning. When Filch actually complimented her on her newfound rigid disciplinary practices, Hermione knew that she would keep going down the wrong path if she didn't rein herself in.

Wearing her heart on her sleeve and letting emotions rule wasn't her style. Ron may be prone to jealous rages and acting irrationally, but she wasn't. No, she preferred to rely on cool logic and common sense. Setting her feelings aside, she did what came naturally to her and formulated a plan. She had no solid proof that Ron had cheated or even looked twice at someone else. She was incriminating him based on George's word and her own overactive imagination. The fact that he had stopped writing was the only real proof she had and even that didn't necessarily mean that Ron had replaced her with someone new. She needed concrete evidence and she was about to take the first step in attaining that evidence today.

Hermione entered the Three Broomsticks and headed for Madam Rosmerta, who was standing behind the bar. "There you are, Hermione," she greeted with a smile. "What can I get you?"

Hermione suddenly remembered Ron's childhood crush on the woman. She would be his type, she thought bitterly. Attractive, curvy, knows how to cook. If Madam Rosmerta were a Quidditch enthusiast and a Chudley Cannons fan, she'd be all but perfect in Ron's eyes. Hermione tried not to scowl at her. "Two butterbeers, please."

Madam Rosmerta deftly pulled out two warm bottles as she listened to another customer's order. "He's already upstairs," she said in response to Hermione's unspoken question. "Third door on your left."

She started to pay for the drinks, but the barmaid waved it off. "Just go on up."

Hermione now felt guilty for her ill feelings towards her. "Thank you." She left to go up the stairs, silently reminding herself not to let dark thoughts of Ron cloud her judgment. "Think of the plan," she whispered. It would do to keep in mind that Ron was innocent until proven otherwise.

Upon reaching her destination, she knocked on the door before pushing it open. A quick glance at the surroundings showed her that was Madam Rosmerta's office. On the other side of the threshold stood the one person who could help her.

"Harry." She put the bottles down on a nearby table and hugged him tightly. "I'm so glad to see you."

Harry grinned as he released her. "I've missed you, Hermione. Ginny says hello, by the way. How is school? How's everyone?"

They sat down at the pair of chairs by a small table away from Madam Rosmerta's work desk. She passed him a bottle and replied, "I've been busy. N.E.W.T. year, you know." She opted not to tell him about Filch's recent praises over her tyrannical attitude.

"Does this mean you're living in the library, then?" he joked.

"You know very well Madam Pince would never allow it," she replied. Harry bit back a laugh at the sincerity of her tone. Only Hermione would take such a statement seriously and consider the library her home. Well, Hermione and Madam Pince, that is.

"Are you sure you want to stay here?" she asked him. "Hagrid would love to see you, and Professor McGonagall too."

He shook his head. "That's all right. I can visit them another time." He relished any opportunity to remain inconspicuous and was grateful that Madam Rosmerta had agreed to let them use her office for privacy. For a few moments he would simply be Harry, not Harry the hero. "Besides, I'm here to see you. I'm sorry that I couldn't come by sooner. I received your letter a few days ago, but I couldn't find the time until now."

"Did you bring it?" she asked eagerly.

Harry picked up his rucksack off the floor and pulled out the invisibility cloak. He made no move to give it to Hermione when she expectantly reached out for it. "You never mentioned why you wanted to borrow this."

"I need it for a fact-finding mission," she said simply, having decided days ago that it would be the safest response to the question she'd correctly predicted he'd ask.

"A fact-finding mission?" Harry repeated. "You mean like research?"

"Yes. Yes, it is." The less he knew, the better.

Still he refused to hand over the cloak. "What kind of research are you doing that would require this?"

"Can I please just borrow the cloak?" she asked, her impatience growing. Why was he being so difficult?

Her refusal to give him a straight answer stirred his curiosity. He couldn't help but tease her. "Oh, so it's a _top secret_, _classified_, fact-finding mission. Would you like the Marauder's Map as well? I have to tell you, Hermione, you sneaking around Hogwarts without me and Ron just doesn't sound right."

"I don't need your map, thank you, since I won't be sneaking around the school! Need I remind you that I'm Head Girl—"

"You were a prefect when we formed Dumbledore's Army from under Umbridge's ugly nose. That didn't stop you from breaking the rules."

"Harry—"

"Are you planning on visiting the restricted section?"

"I don't need it to go to the bloody library!" she exclaimed. "It's none of your business what it's for."

"You're wrong," Harry countered, the teasing tone in his voice gone. "I agreed to meet with you, which means by default I am involved in this fact-finding mission of yours. By asking to use the cloak, you are making whatever you're doing my business. This is a family heirloom, in case you've forgotten—"

"I'll be careful with it," she promised through gritted teeth. She hadn't expected him to complicate her well-formulated plan. He was supposed to agree to let her borrow the cloak without asking any questions!

"I know you will. That wasn't the point. Hermione, if you're in some kind of trouble and you're not telling us…we may not be here with you anymore, but we would still help," he told her, speaking for himself and Ron.

"You really want to know?" she asked, recognizing defeat. She should have foreseen that he wouldn't loan her the cloak without knowing her purpose. Without waiting for his confirmation, she continued, "I need it so I can keep an eye on Ron while he's at the shop. There, I hope you're happy."

Harry gaped at her in disbelief. "Spying on Ron? Are you even hearing yourself?"

"Loud and clear." She folded her arms in front of her chest, braced for his objections. She was prepared to defend her reasons and knew that she wouldn't leave the Three Broomsticks without making him see it her way. Whether he liked it or not, she was going back to Hogwarts with the cloak. "And it's not spying, Harry. It's research, as you so accurately described it."

"You're mad!"

"On the contrary, this plan makes perfect sense. It's a right sight better than imagining him with someone else. At least by spying on him, I can see for myself if he's cheating on me!"

Harry thought she sounded far from logical…more like borderline crazy. In his brief nineteen-year existence, he'd learned to tread carefully with emotional women. After all, he is currently dating someone with a fiery temper, a witch who could hit him with the Bat-Bogey Hex before he could utter _Expelliarmus!_ But Hermione's plan didn't sound like a plan at all; if anything, it seemed incredibly rash and improvised. The approach was more his style, not hers. "Hermione, this is Ron you're talking about. What makes you think he'd do such a thing?"

"George said—"

"George?" he cut in. "You really are barking. You ought to know better than to take anything he says seriously!"

Hermione certainly hadn't eliminated the possibility that George had embellished Ron's appeal to the female population. But whether he was exaggerating or not, his remark had brought out the insecurities she'd been burying for years by seeking solace in books and knowledge. "George said," she went on as if he'd never interrupted, "that girls are throwing themselves at Ron nowadays."

Harry scoffed at this bit of information. "I've gone to the shop plenty of times and I saw nothing of the sort."

"Perhaps you'd misplaced your glasses on those days," she remarked stiffly, refusing to be placated.

"All he does is talk about you whenever I see him!"

"I suppose he can't keep chattering about food and Quidditch all the time."

"Who could he possibly be interested in?"

"Oh, I don't know!" Hermione threw up her hands in frustration. Why couldn't he understand? It didn't matter who exactly caught Ron's attention; it was the fact that he would have plenty of options, therefore increasing the chances for temptation. The odds are even greater since he now lived in the rooms above the shop. The now familiar and ever tiresome image of Ron's idiotic grin as he stood among his many swooning admirers swam to the surface of her mind. If he weren't already cheating, then it would only be a matter of time before he did. "Diagon Alley is crawling with witches. Take your pick!"

"All right, let's say that George wasn't kidding," Harry said, deciding to play along for the sake of correcting her stubborn mindset. "That still doesn't mean that Ron is running around on you. I can understand how difficult it is with the distance—"

"He hasn't written me in months! He just stopped for no reason. Then George tells me about all of the attention Ron's getting. What else could it be? How would it make you feel?" She felt tears prick her eyes as she finally voiced her worries. She refused to give in to jealousy again, having been consumed by it for two weeks. But she would rather succumb to the green-eyed monster than go through the heartache. She willed herself not to cry over him. She wanted to remain angry, if only to keep the pain at bay.

"So why don't you just write him to find out what's going on instead of spying on him like a crazy, paranoid person?"

She ignored his barb. "Since he never answered my last one, I highly doubt he'll respond to any new letters that come from me!"

"Let me talk to him then," Harry suggested.

"No. This is not your problem." She also didn't want Harry tipping him off if Ron really was doing something wrong.

It seems that nothing could change her mind. It was weird to see her rejecting his rational reasons in favor of a ridiculous scheme. Still, he would try one last time to appeal to her sense of logic. "Hermione, it _is_ the holidays," he carefully pointed out. "Surely he's just busy at the shop. Whatever you're thinking…Ron wouldn't do that. If there is someone else, and I highly doubt there is, he'd end it first rather than you finding out this way." She remained obstinately silent and he could see that no matter how many reassurances or alternatives he gave her, she wouldn't be satisfied until she determined Ron's faithfulness, or lack thereof, for herself. Who was he to deny her the answers she sought?

"I still think this is a bad idea," he sighed, but he pushed the invisibility cloak towards her.

Hermione briefly laid her hand on top of his. "Thank you, Harry."

Innocent until proven guilty. With the end of the first term around the corner and the holiday break rapidly approaching, it won't be long until she reached a verdict.


	3. The Mission

**DISCLAIMER**: The characters, places, and things that are part of the Harry Potter universe all belong to J.K. Rowling, though should she choose to give up ownership of Ron, then I would gladly take him. This particular story, however, is mine.

The day is finally here. It is Christmas Eve and Hermione was about to put her plan into action. The holiday break actually began nearly two weeks ago, but she hadn't had the time to visit the shop until now. She'd wanted to get a head start on her reading assignments for the new term, as well as practicing the more intricate potions she assumed would be on the N.E.W.T. exam. However, if she allowed herself to be truly honest, she'd kept herself busy so that her inevitable heartbreak would be delayed as much as possible.

She usually never assumed the worst of Ron but she really could not help it in this instance. As much as the voice of reason told her otherwise, this newfound pessimism of hers was louder and much more convincing. She simply couldn't unwrap her mind around the idea that he'd found someone else and was too cowardly to end it with her. It was like the Lavender Brown situation all over again, except Hermione was now in Lavender's shoes. She couldn't even bring herself to be angry anymore, instead feeling an overwhelming sense of resignation, like a convicted prisoner about to be hanged.

He was everything to her: best friend, lover, confidante, sparring partner. As important as he was in her life, she could survive without him if she truly had to and were left with no choice. If she was lucky, she might even find love one more time. But she knew she would never be whole again.

It was ten o'clock in the morning and Hermione stood in a secluded alley between Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes and another shop. She pulled the invisibility cloak over her head and waited until a small group of people passed by so that she could follow them inside. Immediately she regretted putting off her fact-finding mission until this late date. The shop was full of people buying gifts at the last minute. She may be invisible, but she was still a solid presence. Where exactly was she going to station herself so that no one could run into her?

After much dodging and weaving, she made her way to a small area between a wall and a large barrel of Exploding Snap cards. The cards didn't seem to be as popular as the other novelties the shop sold, so she figured this to be a relatively risk-free spot. It was also conveniently located by the counter where the cash registers were. It was only then that she noticed Ron. Hermione couldn't prevent the smile that escaped her lips. She always felt as if a hand was squeezing her heart whenever she saw him, especially after a prolonged absence. Even though she was filled with impending doom, she experienced the same clutching sensation in her chest.

Has he always been this handsome? She'd known Ron nearly half her life and having spent most of her time with him and Harry, she quite simply never noticed these changes that took place over the years. People say that absence makes the heart grow fonder, but it also allowed her to discern the differences in his appearance that she had overlooked due to their close proximity. His facial features seemed sharper and more defined, his jaw line stronger, his cheekbones angular rather than curved. She noted, with appreciation, that his jumper was snug enough so that hints of lean muscle were evident. He'd turned into a young man, but with the hair that always fell over his forehead and the smile that lit up his eyes, he retained the boyish charm.

She watched as he gave his attention to a customer, a boy she vaguely recognized as a Hufflepuff first year. "I wouldn't get that if I were you," Ron advised, gesturing at the Peruvian Instant Darkness Powder the boy held.

The child's eyes narrowed. "Why not? Are you selling things that aren't any good?"

"All of our stuff is good. Are you buying for yourself?"

"No. It's for my mate for Christmas."

Ron nodded sagely. "I see. That's not the kind of thing you should get your mate. The Darkness Powder is handy for tricky situations when you need to escape without being seen, but it can only be used once. Where's the fun in that?"

The boy looked doubtful, yet intrigued. "Go on."

"I think you should get him a trick wand."

"A trick wand?"

"Yeah, we have plenty to choose from over there." He pointed to a wall of shelves further away. "I had a lot of fun with trick wands when I was younger." He still did, but Ron didn't feel the need to add that part.

"What's so great about it?"

"Well, it looks like an ordinary wand, but it turns into something else when you use it. My best mate and I had a great fight with these wands," Ron reminisced with a small, satisfied sigh. "Fourth year. During class we were battling it out. Mine had turned into a tin parrot and his into a rubber fish. My parrot's beak ended up slicing off his fish's head and I won. Er, not that you should be wand fighting in class, mind you," he hastily added as he remembered that he was speaking to an impressionable kid.

Hermione could tell by the gleam in the boy's eye that the dueling idea had already taken root in his mind. She shook her head as she also looked back on the memory of Professor McGonagall yelling at Ron and Harry to pay attention and to act their age. Boys will be boys.

"How are we going to duel if there's only one wand?" he demanded. "D'you mean I have to buy two?"

Ron grinned. "No. You ask your parents to get you the other one for Christmas."

He dropped the Darkness Powder on the counter and took off running, his mind made up. "Dad! Mum!"

"Oi, remember what I said about dueling in class!" Ron called out, though he had a sinking feeling that he'd just corrupted the young customer's mind. He shrugged as he set the powder aside to return to its appropriate place later. Boys will be boys.

Hermione couldn't stop her grin from spreading even if she tried. George was right; Ron was a natural. She couldn't help but be proud of him after seeing him turn one sale into two in a way that wasn't manipulative by any stretch of the imagination. He may have his tactless moments, but he had a natural ease with people that she always envied. She was polite, yes; such behavior is ingrained in her and was a part of her upbringing. But it was one thing to be courteous and quite another to be charismatic. Ron had always been funny and perhaps the appeal that she'd spoken of to George weeks ago was just now starting to emerge for others to appreciate. It was exactly the kind of thing he would pass off with a shrug if she tried to compliment him on it. _That__'__s nothing, Hermione,_ she could practically hear him say. _Talking to strangers, big deal. Anyone can do that._ She, of all people, would know that isn't true.

She watched as he skillfully dealt with customers of all ages while counting money, handing out change, giving directions to the other employees, and keeping an eye out for shoplifters, all without skipping a beat. The boy from earlier was back, this time with his parents, practically bouncing out of his trainers as he brandished two trick wands for Ron to admire, chattering happily about the many epic duels he and his mate were going to have. Ron and the child's father exchanged a look that spoke volumes about memories of childhood mischief.

"Is this the last of your shopping?" Ron inquired.

"Yes," the boy's mother answered wearily. "Thank Merlin."

"Happy Christmas." He smiled as the boy waved goodbye. He might just take a couple of those wands back to the Burrow, where he would see Harry later. For old times' sake.

It was then that Hermione noticed how tired he looked. She spotted a sign on the counter that boasted of the extended holiday hours. Perhaps Harry was right and Ron had simply been too busy working to return her correspondence. She felt the stirrings of sympathy and guilt, but immediately changed her mind, however, when she saw a giggling group of Ravenclaw fourth years approaching the counter. She glowered at them, crossing her arms over her chest, as they asked Ron if he could sell them the Patented Daydream Charms even though they weren't yet sixteen years old. They didn't seem too dejected when he firmly denied their request; if anything, it made them giggle louder, having achieved their goal of simply talking to him and getting him to notice them. It would seem that George's words had a grain of truth.

She couldn't help but feel annoyed even though he didn't show any reaction to them. She supposed she could identify with the foolish girls; after all, wasn't she just thinking of how handsome he was? But she wasn't in the mood to be generous, not when the reason for her current gloomy outlook and hidden presence in the shop was because of girls like them.

Suddenly, Ron grinned from ear to ear, the same infuriating grin that kept popping in her mind whenever she thought of him wallowing in the admiration she now knew he received from other witches. Hermione followed his gaze and saw the reason for the loathsome smile that only mere moments ago she thought was charming: Ron's brother Bill and his gorgeous part-veela wife Fleur had entered the shop.

A small, superficial part of Hermione had always been jealous of Fleur. She would always prize brains over good looks, but it couldn't hurt to even be mildly attractive. She could still clearly picture Ron's slack-jawed, vacant expression whenever he caught sight of Fleur during their fourth year at Hogwarts. He'd practically drooled over her and would have done anything to get her to pay attention to him. He certainly had no problem noticing Fleur was a member of the opposite sex, even though it took him years to finally see Hermione in the same light. She noticed the Ravenclaw group had stopped giggling and edged away from the counter, perhaps intimidated by Fleur's blatant beauty. She couldn't blame them.

"'Allo, Ronald," Fleur greeted in her heavily accented English. Hermione silently mimicked her and made faces beneath the safety of the invisibility cloak. Ron's idiotic grin was still plastered on his face, but to Hermione's surprise, she saw that it wasn't directed towards his sister-in-law or even his brother. His eyes were trained on a wriggling, pink bundle in Fleur's arms.

Victoire, Hermione thought. It was her first time seeing Ron's niece because she'd been in Australia when Victoire was born and she never had the opportunity to visit Shell Cottage since the baby's birth. Ron had talked about her a few times and mentioned her in some of his letters; the affection for his niece was evident even when the topic was only addressed in passing.

The baby whimpered and kicked but that didn't seem to deter Ron, who continued to hold out his arms for her. "We were doing some last minute shopping and thought we'd drop in to say hello. She's fussy today," Bill warned even as Fleur passed their daughter over. "I hope she's not getting sick."

Suddenly his head whipped around to stare at the exact spot where Hermione was standing. She froze, her heart leaping to her throat. But how did he know? Even as she asked herself the question, she remembered that Bill now had an uncanny sense of smell, thanks to being mauled by Fenrir Greyback a few years ago. Though she knew he couldn't see her, she shook her head and silently pleaded for him not to reveal her presence.

The baby burst into tears, wailing at the top of her lungs. "Maybe she's just tired," Ron remarked sympathetically. "I'll take her upstairs. Can you keep an eye on things for me?" He could tell that the frazzled new parents could use a reprieve. He wouldn't mind a bit of quiet himself, however much peace being left alone with a screaming baby would bring. He headed to the rooms above the shop while Hermione followed close behind, both curious about this new, gentler side of Ron and eager to escape Bill's piercing gaze. He went straight to his room, putting Victoire on the bed while he rummaged for the spare toys he kept on hand for such occasions.

Hermione, grateful for the chance to stretch her legs and move around, idly wandered about the small room. She saw a couple of pamphlets from the Ministry of Magic on his nightstand. Upon closer inspection she saw that they were informational leaflets on Auror training, undoubtedly passed along by Harry, who was now capturing Dark witches and wizards for the Ministry's Department of Magical Law Enforcement. Ron had mentioned his desire to be an Auror to her before, having discussed the matter previously with Harry. She briefly reflected on that conversation, which had taken place a few weeks after the final battle.

"What do you think?" he had asked her cautiously, gauging her response.

She thought it was an incredibly dangerous line of work and chose to remain silent. It was bad enough that she already had Harry to worry about, but she couldn't tell Ron not to do it if it was a goal he intended on achieving. She would never want to get in the way of his dreams.

Sensing her worries, he'd said, "It's just something to consider for later. I'm going to work for George at the shop first. I think right now it's time for me to be with my family. Besides, I think I need to be on my own for a while…to find myself. Does that make sense to you?"

It did. It was exactly why she'd insisted on going to Australia on her own, as much as she wanted Ron's company. It was why she chose to finish her time at Hogwarts while both Ron and Harry had taken different paths. After spending years together and being known as a collective unit, they all needed to make their own mark and establish their own identities apart from the group.

Other than the pamphlets, nothing had changed since the last time she was here. The same Chudley Cannons posters decorated the walls, the familiar framed photos of his family and friends rested on various pieces of furniture. Random articles of clothing were strewn around, Quidditch equipment were piled haphazardly in a corner next to Pigwidgeon's empty cage. It felt nice to be in a place that was the embodiment of Ron after being exposed to a hidden facet of his personality; it helped to reconcile this new image of him with the one she'd always known.

He emerged with a teddy bear that he'd once carried around everywhere as a kid. Even after Fred had briefly turned it into a spider, he couldn't find it in his heart to get rid of the fuzzy toy that brought him comfort. Now he can pass it on to someone he hoped would treasure it as much as he had. "Look what I have," he whispered to his bawling niece. With a flick of his wand he made the bear dance as if invisible strings were controlling it. She didn't seem impressed; if anything, she cried and kicked at the air with more vigor. She had obviously inherited her mother's feistiness.

"I hope you don't need changing," he muttered as he lifted Victoire into his arms again. "I think I'll save that little task for your mum and dad, yeah?" He roamed around the room, bouncing her carefully in the hopes that she'd quiet down. Hermione quickly moved out of the way, fascinated by what she was seeing. She felt like she was observing a stranger she'd known all her life, if that even made any sense. Who was this young man and what has he done with Ronald Weasley?

It seemed that nothing could allay the baby's crying. He'd tried tickling her, rocking her, and distracting her with bubbles he concocted with his wand. It looked like there was only one solution left. "Victoire, don't make me do it," he said pleadingly, looking at his niece's scrunched up face. "I'm begging you."

_Do what?_ Hermione clamped a hand over her mouth. She'd very nearly asked the question aloud. What happened next stunned her and if she hadn't been there to witness it for herself, she would have thought it was a silly dream.

Ron tentatively began to sing. She wasn't fluent in the language, but she could easily surmise that what she was hearing was horribly butchered French. It was a simple tune, probably a lullaby. Her eyes filled with tears as she watched the tender scene. He was the one who couldn't be bothered to read _Hogwarts: A History_, who would leave his homework until the last minute, who would put off practicing his spells and charms in favor of Quidditch, wizard's chess, and goofing off with his best mate. Yet he'd managed to find the diligence and discipline to learn a song in a foreign tongue to sing to his niece. It was apparent that Ron had grown up in more ways than one.

He sighed with relief when he looked down at Victoire and saw her sleeping, having sung the lullaby three times before she stopped squirming and dozed off. Though he knew he was alone, he looked around furtively before kissing her forehead.

Hermione, quite plainly forgetting her hidden state since she was so absorbed in the moment, dabbed her tears with the cloak and sniffled loudly. In a split second, Ron had his wand pointed at the empty space before him, his expression fierce and guarded. "Who's there?" he demanded, taking care not to raise his voice and disturb the sleeping infant.

She froze, but saw that he wasn't aiming the wand directly at her, just at the room in general. She edged away as he crept towards the open door that led to the hallway, eyes wary and alert. When he saw Bill and Fleur emerge from the staircase he put the wand away. "I'm sorry, I thought I heard something."

Bill glanced unerringly at the spot where Hermione stood. "Did you now?"

"Oh, she's sleeping," Fleur cooed as she took her daughter from Ron. "'Ow did you do it?"

"Er…" His brothers would never let him forget it if he revealed that he spent hours learning to sing a song in French. "You know, I just kind of walked around with her, nothing out of the ordinary."

Bill turned away from Hermione when he saw the bear Ron was holding. "You kept it after all these years?"

He smiled sheepishly. "Yeah, well…I don't need it anymore, so she can have it if she wants it."

Fleur adjusted the bonnet on Victoire's head and took the toy from him. "Of course she does," she said authoritatively. She kissed him on the cheek. "You will make an excellent father someday, Ronald."

He turned beet red as he followed her to the staircase. "We're too young—I mean, I'm too young to—I mean, I haven't even started thinking about…we haven't even talked about…me, a father? We're too young…" His stammering faded away as he descended the stairs on suddenly shaky knees.

It wasn't lost on Hermione that Bill stayed behind. "I hope there is a good explanation for what you're doing," he said. "You don't have to tell me what it is. I'd rather stay out of your relationship; I think you two are old enough to handle things on your own. But if Ron gets hurt, you'll leave me with no choice but to get involved."

"He's not going to get hurt," she told him, her voice hoarse with both disuse and the emotion from earlier.

"All right. We'll see you later at the Burrow, then." He left to join his wife and brother downstairs.

Hermione remained where she was, using the time alone to gather her thoughts. No, Ron wasn't going to get hurt. Bill can hold her to her word. If anyone was going to suffer, it was she.


	4. The Facts

**DISCLAIMER**: The characters, places, and things that are part of the Harry Potter universe all belong to J.K. Rowling, though should she choose to give up ownership of Ron, then I would gladly take him. This particular story, however, is mine.

After taking a few minutes to compose herself, she went downstairs to find that Bill, Fleur, and Victoire were gone and that the shop was mostly empty. She overheard one of the employees talking about plans to meet a friend at the Leaky Cauldron and concluded that the shop closed for lunchtime. She followed the same employee out the door and ducked back into the alley to whip off the cloak, breathing in the cold, fresh air that felt absolutely wonderful after being practically stifled. She decided to pop into the Leaky Cauldron as well to gather her thoughts as much as to appease her hunger.

Hermione had never felt so confused in her life. She had once compared Ron's emotional range to a teaspoon. What she wouldn't give right now to have such a small capacity to feel! The scene upstairs played over and over in her mind. How could the person who callously stopped writing to her and the person who was so tender and loving be one and the same? The incongruence made her uneasy, for now she didn't know what to believe.

She needed some semblance of order amongst her chaotic thoughts. She was used to operating in a linear fashion and she simply cannot function properly when nothing made sense. She dug into her purse for a quill, a bottle of ink, and a roll of parchment. As she ate her sandwich, she began to make a list.

_Fact: Ron stopped writing weeks ago without any explanation._ This was the basis of her research, as Harry had nicely put it.

_Fact: I get jealous when I think of Ron with other girls._ It was a natural, understandable reaction, she thought. He may not have cared for the giggling Ravenclaw group, but what would happen if someone like Fleur waltzed into the shop, someone so breathtakingly beautiful that he'd forget that he even had a girlfriend at all? Hermione was already out of her element with the whole relationship business and the added handicap of her less-than-stunning appearance only made the situation worse. She might as well have been playing Quidditch with both arms tied behind her back.

_Fact: I don't trust him when we're apart._ She stared at the sentence as if her hand had written it against her will. Seeing the words so plainly on the parchment made the thought irrefutable and real. She felt her stomach twisting into knots as she stared at the ugly piece of information. She wanted to cross it out, but it wouldn't help clear up her mind if she did; she would just be burying the truth and at this point in time she really needed to be honest with herself. She wouldn't hesitate to place her life in his hands, but her heart was another matter entirely. The mere act of writing out the particularly uncomfortable feeling freed her to completely express her thoughts and dredge up any hidden demons.

_Fact: He can break my heart without trying_. She felt even more vulnerable after jotting down that belief. She didn't think it was possible to love him any more than she already did, but after she had watched him with Victoire, Hermione could practically feel her heart swelling to make room for the new feelings and memories until it seemed like it would burst. The flood of emotion overwhelmed her and only added to her confusion, leaving her feeling exposed and even more susceptible to the pain that she was sure Ron would cause.

She nearly wrote down that he was cheating on her, but that was something she had yet to prove was fact. She ran a hand over the invisibility cloak, which she'd placed on the seat next to her. Was there even a point to using it now? She was bound to get hurt, whether she was invisible or not. Harry was right, she was mad to even consider spying on Ron. She should have confronted him directly, demanding the answers she needed. Perhaps she would have been spared these feelings of guilt and defenselessness. Glancing at the clock on the wall, she noticed that she had nearly dwindled away a whole hour by composing the list. She stuffed everything back inside her purse and headed for the shop, which was again open for business after the brief break. She saw that it wasn't as crowded as it was before lunch and surmised that most people were now at home, preparing for the holiday festivities. Ron was nowhere in sight. Had he left for the day? Hermione didn't want a confrontation at the Burrow for undoubtedly it would involve his whole family as well as Harry. She wanted to keep this matter between the two of them.

She approached the employee she had followed out of the shop earlier. "Excuse me, have you seen Ron?"

"He's in the back, showing someone the Muggle magic tricks," he replied. "I can get him for you, if you'd like."

"No, thank you." With Ron back there she can be assured that their conversation would be private. "I know where it is." She went off to the back of the shop and overheard Ron speaking as she drew closer.

"Well, this is all we have. Quite honestly, we don't have much of a market for this kind of thing. Only my dad seems to enjoy this stuff and half the time we don't have the heart to charge him for it."

Hermione seethed when she heard a familiar female voice say, "I didn't really come here for silly tricks." She dragged the cloak out of her purse and threw it over herself. So much for not using it again. She went inside the small back room undetected and nearly cursed out loud when she saw Romilda Vane standing just a little too close to Ron.

Ron, however, didn't seem to notice that there was little space between him and Romilda. He was too busy reorganizing a jumbled stack of playing cards to pay attention to her proximity. "I hope you're not here for the love potions. I know for a fact that it works, but you don't need to rely on stuff like that."

Hermione fumed helplessly, wishing she could throw something heavy at Ron in the hopes of knocking some sense into him. Why was he taking the bait and encouraging Romilda?

Romilda's eyes lit up. "Is that so? I'm flattered." It was just the response she was hoping for. She'd been visiting the shop every day for a week now and she was running out of excuses for stopping by. It was about time Ron figured out why she kept coming. She had fancied Harry when they were all in Hogwarts together, but now that The Boy Who Lived is unattainable, she figured she'd land the next best thing. Ron is a lot easier on the eyes now than he'd ever been while they were in school and if the stories Lavender told her were any indication, then he was more than adequate at the physical aspects of a relationship.

He shrugged. "No girl should have to resort to using it. The same goes for guys, too. Everyone should just be themselves and hope for the best."

"What would you say my redeeming qualities are, Ron?" Romilda batted her eyelashes in what Hermione thought was a nauseating fashion.

He shrugged again, scratching his head. Truth be told, he didn't know Romilda all that well and he would forever associate her with his poisoning incident during his sixth year, even though her love potion-spiked Chocolate Cauldrons weren't the direct cause. He couldn't figure out why she was suddenly so interested in the shop; he'd seen her every day this week yet she never seemed to care about what she was buying. Maybe she was looking for a job. He'd have to ask George if it would be all right to hire her. She was a fellow Gryffindor, after all.

"Well?" she said impatiently, abruptly reminding him that she was waiting for an answer.

"Oh, right. Er...you're pretty confident. That's probably not a bad thing."

Shameless was more like it, Hermione thought. Romilda reminded her of Cormac McLaggen, which was definitely not a favorable comparison, so she couldn't understand why Ron was so generous with his compliments when he'd called Cormac some very unflattering names.

According to Romilda's one-track mind, his admiration of her confidence meant that he'd given her the green light to make a move. She ran her fingers down his arm, slightly surprised to discover the faint curves and firmness of muscle underneath the sleeve of his jumper. _Well, well...Lavender may be on to something here. What else are you hiding, Ron Weasley? _"I don't think it's a bad thing at all."

It took all of Hermione's restraint not to rip off the cloak and hit Romilda with a jinx. It took even more willpower not to do worse to Ron. The evidence she was waiting for was now staring her in the face. As she had accurately guessed, he clearly enjoyed the attention; if he didn't, he would have put a stop to Romilda's pathetic and transparent advances, perhaps even firmly reminding her that his heart already belonged to someone else. She knew what Romilda wanted and knew what this would lead to. But like a witness to a tragic accident, she simply could not look away from the destruction. She wanted to catch Ron in the act, even if it meant irreparable damage to her heart. Seeing him kiss Romilda would be the ultimate proof, a theory proven as fact.

Ron dimly heard warning signs going off in his head. Surely Romilda Vane wasn't coming on to him! The last time he'd checked he wasn't Harry Potter, so there was no reason for her to be flirting with him or giving him inviting smiles. Still, it couldn't hurt to gently warn her that whatever she was trying to pull, it wouldn't work. "Romilda, you _do_ know I'm with Hermione, right?"

"Granger?" she scoffed as she rolled her eyes. The shrewish bookworm was hardly a threat. "That bore?"

Ron wanted to leap to Hermione's defense, but he needed to choose his words carefully. She was anything but boring, in bed or out of it, but the intimate details of his relationship were certainly none of Romilda's business. He simply said, "She's not." Unfortunately, he had a sinking feeling that Romilda wouldn't be deterred by such a tepid yet truthful denial.

Hermione didn't even hear his attempt at gallantry. His glaringly obvious hesitation to object to Romilda's claim was louder than any words he'd spoken. That brief silence was damning. So he thought she wasn't exciting enough. Had she driven him away with her dull tales of life at Hogwarts?

"I'm sure she'd rather have books keeping her company," Romilda continued snidely. "I, on the other hand, would prefer a man to pages of parchment." She moved closer, her body pressing against his, her intention unmistakable.

She didn't know if she was acting out of pride, jealousy, anger, the primal need to protect what was hers, or a combination of all four, but Hermione decided that she wouldn't just stand idly by, cowering under an invisibility cloak while this foul vulture disguised as a witch tried to prey on what she had no right to covet. Ron was _hers_, damn it, and he would continue to be hers until either she ended the relationship on her terms or he told her to her face that it was over. Forget evidence and facts! She was not about to let Romilda Vane get involved only to break them up.

It felt like it was happening in slow motion, yet it only took mere seconds for Hermione to throw off the cloak and silently cast a shield charm between Romilda and Ron before their lips could touch. The look on their faces would have been comical if she was in the mood to laugh. Romilda had on a startled and guilty expression, like a child who'd been caught sneaking a cookie from the jar when she shouldn't be having any, while Ron's eyes nearly bulged out of their sockets. He looked bewildered and terrified at the same time. Good, Hermione thought smugly.

"Hermione," he managed to croak. How long had she been there? How much had she seen? Not that there was much to see, really...

Romilda squeaked and dashed out of the room. Lust and bravado made her briefly forget that Hermione Granger was one of the best witches to come from Hogwarts in many years. If she can avoid being jinxed by her, then she would do it by all means. Ron can fend for himself. He'd helped defeat You-Know-Who; surely he can handle his enraged girlfriend.

Hermione barely spared her a glance. Instead she focused on the red-faced man in front of her, removing the shield charm with a wave of her wand. "You," she uttered in a voice that vibrated with anger.

Ron braced himself, expecting another canary attack or worse. But all she did was turn on her heel and stomp off. Unable to believe that he'd gotten off so easily, he called out against his better judgment. "Hermione, wait!" He had so many questions to ask her. To begin with, why was she spying on him? The faint stirrings of betrayal and bitterness started to creep in.

"I'll deal with you later." She felt like a volcano on the verge of erupting and a public place is hardly the time for an explosion. She Disapparated without another word, weighed down by the day's events.

An hour later, Hermione closed the front door after waving goodbye to her parents, who were spending Christmas Eve at the home of her father's old friend from university. Her parents had known immediately that something was amiss when she had arrived earlier, popping out of thin air; her emotions were telegraphed clearly on her face. They figured it had to do with Ron, the nice boy their baby girl was dating and most likely in love with. Nothing and no one else seemed to affect their daughter so much. It had been a struggle not to give her unsolicited advice, not that Hermione would resent the wisdom of parents who have been happily married for many years. However, they wanted her to learn the valuable lesson that the lofty ideals of love that are woven into the fairy tales she adored as a child were as unrealistic as the stories themselves. Being in love was hard work and it brought both pleasure and pain, sometimes in equal measure. If there is one thing their daughter could learn from her relationship with Ron, it is that the answers to everything aren't always found in books.

Crookshanks purred and rubbed himself against Hermione's ankles. Picking up the cat, she gave in to the comfort that he offered and nuzzled his fur. "Oh, Crookshanks. Why are men so much trouble?" The cat could only meow in response, though his eyes had an expression of understanding in them; he was used to offering his own brand of sympathy after being the sole witness to his owner's despair and frustration over a certain ginger human male many times before. "Maybe I should turn into one of those cat ladies we hear about in the Muggle news from time to time. What do you think? A houseful of cats would be less trouble than dealing with one idiot wizard."

Hermione jumped when she heard a loud yelp and a rustling noise by the side door in the kitchen. Setting Crookshanks down, she took out her wand before going to investigate the source of the disturbance. She opened the door and sighed at what she saw. "Honestly, Ron." He had Apparated into what was left of the rose bushes and was now trying to extricate himself from them. "Destination, determination and deliberation, remember?"

"Yeah, well...I might've added 'distraction' to that." He could think of nothing else but what had happened earlier in the shop. "Sorry about the bushes."

Who cared about dead plants that would grow back in the spring when his safety was at stake? "You know how important it is to Apparate with a clear mind. You could have splinched yourself."

He welcomed her lecturing tone; it made it seem as if things were normal between them. Having successfully disentangled himself from the bushes, he checked for missing appendages as he brushed away the snow that clung to his clothes and was relieved to discover that his body was intact and all limbs are present and accounted for. "I'm okay." The tension in the air was unbearable. "Hermione..." She glared at him and went back inside the house. He supposed that was her way of inviting him in.

He had no idea what he'd done wrong, but he was ready to beg for her forgiveness. He would do whatever it took to get back on even ground with her again. He had always enjoyed arguing with her, but he hated hurting her feelings. It was a line he used to cross thoughtlessly, but now he was mindful of the fine yet distinct boundary. Ron joined her in the kitchen, closing the door behind him. He and Crookshanks exchanged a look of mutual dislike. It sounded ridiculous in his mind (anyone's mind, really), but he could feel the disapproval emanating from the animal. It had been easier to win over Hermione's parents! At best, he and the cat had learned to tolerate each other out of respect for Hermione. Crookshanks, perhaps sensing danger and because he can't bear to be in the same room as the creature his owner appeared to dote on, thought it best to leave.

The silence was incredibly awkward. This should have been a happy reunion, Ron thought. She wouldn't even look at him. How was he supposed to begin apologizing when he didn't know what to apologize for? She should be angry with Romilda Vane, not him.

Hermione finally faced him, her arms tightly crossed. Her wand lay on the counter within arm's reach. It looked like he was safe from physical harm, for now, at least. She held something else in her hand, however; it looked like a folded piece of parchment. "Well?" she demanded.

"Er..."

"Don't you think you owe me an explanation?"

But didn't she already see for herself what happened? "For what?" He knew immediately that was the wrong response. The look in her eye was lethal. Maybe he ought to conjure up a shield charm just in case.

"For what?" Hermione repeated in a tone filled with ominous disbelief. She refused to acknowledge that he didn't know what he'd done wrong. "Even you can't possibly be that thick, Ron!"

He could feel his temper beginning to boil and decided to abandon his earlier inclination to relinquish his pride for the sake of earning her forgiveness. After all, he too was wronged. "I'm not being thick. And you're not the only one who deserves an explanation. How could you have even known Romilda was going try to kiss me? Or is spying on me just something you do every now and then when you have some free time?" Remembering the cloak, he added, "Is Harry in on this?"

"There's no need for you to be angry with him. The only thing he did was let me borrow the invisibility cloak and even then he tried to get me to change my mind."

"So it was your brilliant idea, then." If Harry tried talking her out of a plan that he himself would normally employ, then that must mean that she really was mental.

She bristled at his sarcastic jab. "Only because you gave me reason to do it."

"I wasn't encouraging her!"

"That may be, but you weren't stopping her, either. You probably would have kissed her if I hadn't interfered."

Ron was taken aback. "Is that really what you think?"

Hermione may have said it with conviction, but it rang false in her ears. "What am I supposed to believe?" she asked him. Think of the facts, she reminded herself even as her gut instinct argued with her sense of reason. "I saw you with my own eyes, Ron. And now you're telling me that you don't think you did anything wrong?"

He felt like they were talking about the same thing yet using different languages. She was angry with him about Romilda, that much was obvious, but it seemed as if she's furious about something more. Frustration mounting, Ron shouted, "So it was wrong of me _not_ to kiss her? Do you even realize how ridiculous that sounds? What exactly am I supposed to be apologizing for?"

In a couple of angry strides Hermione was toe-to-toe with him. He thought she was going to punch him but instead she slapped the piece of parchment on his chest and stalked back to her spot by the counter. Ron stared at the parchment, unable to believe what he was reading, that she had actually written the words, but her tidy handwriting was unmistakable. He wanted to lash out at her but he knew it wouldn't help either of them in the long run. Trying to quell his anger and hurt feelings, he looked again at his purported list of sins. It was time to set her straight.

"Here's a fact for you, Hermione," he said heatedly as he ripped the parchment in half. "I love you, all right? That has to count for something. Just because we don't see each other every day doesn't make it any less true. What have I done to make you distrust me so much?"

When she saw the look of haunted realization in his eyes, she knew immediately that he was thinking of when he'd abandoned her and Harry during the Horcrux hunt. "Ron, stop it. When will you stop blaming yourself for that?" As furious as she was with him, she hated to see how he kept beating himself up for a mistake that she and Harry had long forgiven him for.

Ron didn't answer. Harry and Hermione may have put his transgression behind them, but it would be a very long time before he could do the same; that is, if he could even forgive himself at all for what he considered his greatest failure as a friend and as a person. He had been so insecure during the Horcrux hunt and all the years of self-doubt had accumulated until he was forced to address his fears in spectacular fashion. He had been easy prey for Voldemort, really. But he'd destroyed the locket and in return gained the elusive self-worth and belief in himself that had been missing in his life. Loving Hermione only solidified his new resolve and the happier she made him, the sturdier his once fragile self-esteem became. Why couldn't she see that?

He then had an epiphany. She couldn't see it because she was blinded by her insecurities; he of all people would know the signs. This incredibly bright, gifted, and confident witch had a weakness in her supposedly impenetrable armor. Whereas loving her made him stronger and more self-assured, her feelings for him had the opposite effect on her: it made her vulnerable and paranoid; it made her doubt herself and in turn, doubt his feelings for her and what they had together. This added knowledge only made him want to treat her with even more care and protect her from the one thing that would hurt her most, which just happened to be himself.

He looked down at her list again, this time with eyes that held new wisdom. So she considered these her facts, did she? Hermione Granger hated to be proven wrong, especially since she was very often correct (sometimes irritatingly so). But Ron was going to teach her a lesson, one that he hoped she'd commit to memory even though it wouldn't be from one of her precious books.

Why won't he say something? Hermione felt like shaking the silence out of him. He only continued to look at the torn parchment with an expression akin to both wonder and enlightenment. She had to clamp down the urge to take the parchment away from him. She felt exposed and was at a disadvantage. By handing him the parchment, she had effectively given him the tools to smash her heart into pieces. Now she was defenseless; all he had to do was take aim and it would be a direct hit.

"When did you write this?" he suddenly asked.

"Why does that matter?" He only looked at her expectantly and didn't provide an answer. "Fine, if you must know, I wrote it today, just before I was entertained by you and Romilda. But I've been feeling this way for quite a while now, so it would still be true whether I wrote it five minutes or five weeks ago."

Why hadn't he seen the signs earlier? He could have prevented her pain. Then again, they had been leading separate lives ever since she went back to school and he started working at the shop. According to her list, however, one thing had brought all of her anxieties to the surface and he had been the direct cause. But he would address that later, for there were more important matters on her list that needed his attention and reassurance.

"There's no need for you to be jealous of other girls."

She let out a short laugh that bordered on the edge of hysterical. "I think you proved that there definitely is a reason why I should be."

"I proved it by not encouraging her?"

"I think you enjoy the attention a little too much, Ron. Granted, it's somewhat understandable, but—"

"I don't care for attention, not when it isn't from you. Glory, fame, all of that stuff, it doesn't matter to me anymore. Hermione, she's just another customer to me, someone we went to school with. I barely noticed that she was in the back room with me, much less what she was doing. All I could think about was seeing you tonight and worrying if you'll like your Christmas present. You said I was thick earlier; maybe you're not that far off. This is me we're talking about, after all."

Could it be true? Ron was never quick to pick up on signals. How many hints did she have to drop before they were finally on the same page? The idea certainly wasn't far-fetched. She remembered now that Romilda had abandoned subtlety before he caught on to what she was doing. "But why wouldn't you want someone like her?" she asked miserably. "She's fun, exciting. Pretty."

"And you're not? Your second home may be the library, but you're anything but boring. Why should I settle for Romilda Vane when I have someone who challenges me, someone who makes me want to be a better person, someone who likes arguing with me, who gets me to think of ways to prove that I deserve her and for her to be proud of me?"

"I..." She was at a loss for words. Was that really how he saw her, how she made him feel?

"It took me years, but I had to earn you. And in a way, I feel like I'm still trying to. I want to be able to deserve you. You have no idea how high the pedestal is that I put you on. No one else can come close. You're the best thing that's ever happened to me."

There it was again, that uneasy sensation of a hand clutching her heart. She felt dizzy as he bombarded her with his weapon of choice, which turned out to be unbridled honesty. His words echoed dimly in her ears as she felt herself trusting him and believing him, her heart and her head finally aligned.

"Sure, Romilda is nice to look at, but then again, so are half of the witches in the Wizarding world. But she can never..." He struggled to find the words to describe how he felt. "She's not special. She's not a part of me like you are."

Hermione could feel the tears threatening to spill over. No one had ever said such things to her. It wasn't poetry, but she found that she preferred his sincere, open declarations that laid his heart bare to a romantic sonnet filled with flowery words. When she caught him looking at the parchment again, aligning the halves together so that he could read it, she objected, "Ron, don't." How could she have ever doubted him? His words, the utter conviction in his voice, were all the proof she needed.

He shook his head. "You wanted your answers, you're going to get them." He wanted to make sure she was absolutely convinced that her heart was safe in his clumsy yet capable hands. She needed to hear what he had to say and he, perhaps, needed to say them to her. He had never been comfortable sharing his feelings, but one does a lot of growing up after fighting a war and staring death in the face. All of those months spent camping in the wilderness enabled him to reflect on his life and on missed opportunities. He wasn't going to mess up this chance.

She took the parchment from him, crumpling the pieces and tossing them aside. "I don't need to hear any more. I was wrong to think these things."

"Hermione, you're not that far off. Look, I get these thoughts too, all right? It's only natural since we're so far apart and I've never been in love before. It doesn't exactly come with an instruction manual. But there are nights where I can't sleep because I keep wondering if you'll find someone better than me, someone like Terry Boot or—"

"Terry Boot?" she repeated incredulously. "He'll bore me to tears in a week!"

"It doesn't have to be him. Whoever he is, he's probably in Ravenclaw though. And he'll be good at Quidditch too, and he can make you laugh, and he's really good at knitting clothes for house-elves, and he passes all of his exams with high marks and—"

Hermione could feel the stirrings of a smile. She could now see how ridiculous her jealous feelings were after hearing him describe his made-up rival. "He sounds perfect," she interrupted before Ron could gain full steam.

"He is," he muttered. "He's even read _Hogwarts: A History_. Twice."

"Perfect, but not perfect for me."

"The point is, I could drive myself crazy thinking about the possibilities that could break us up. But I'd rather work on keeping us together than destroy what we have because of things that may not even happen or people we may never meet. I've screwed up enough when it comes to you and I don't want to do that anymore. You can trust me."

"I know I can, and I do. It's just that when you stopped writing—"

"I can explain that. I don't know what happened to Pig on his way back from Hogwarts, but one of his wings was completely broken, the other mangled. I'm not sure how he even made it Diagon Alley. I had no idea what to do with him, so I took him to the Burrow where Mum can keep an eye on him while he heals. He didn't have your letter on him, it must have gotten lost."

"Oh, no." Hermione could picture the tiny owl struggling to fly back home and Ron's worried, frantic reaction. Like he did with Scabbers, he may gripe about Pigwidgeon but deep down he cared about his pet. She remembered the empty cage she saw earlier. "Will he be okay?"

"He's fine. You know how that bird is. Once he got some of his energy back he was strutting around his cage, showing off his bandages. Soon after that I was busy with the shop and I just forgot to write. I'm really sorry. It never occurred to me how much it would bother you."

Hermione sighed. Ron's explanation was perfectly reasonable and nothing at all like the crazy scenarios she'd imagined. She should have listened to her heart rather than her head and let love rule over logic. "I should have known when I saw you today that you weren't capable of being so cruel."

Ron frowned. "You mean earlier with Romilda?"

"No, I..." She felt the sting of shame as she told him, "I was at the shop since this morning. I followed you upstairs when you went off with Victoire. You were so sweet with her."

He felt embarrassed knowing that she'd seen him with his niece. He'd never revealed that side of himself to anyone and didn't even know until recently that he was capable of showing the kind of tenderness that usually came from a parent. He still wasn't accustomed to it. "So that noise I heard, that was you."

"I should have known even before then that you could never hurt me in the way I thought you did. I kept arguing with myself as I made up that list. I just didn't know what to believe. I feel so stupid."

"I'm sorry, can you repeat that last bit again?"

She fought to keep her lips from twitching into a smile. "You heard me."

"It's just a momentous occasion, that's all. Definitely a memory for the Pensieve, if you ask me—" Ron grinned when she rewarded him with the laughter he'd missed so much.

"Please, let me finish. I owe you that." She took a deep, shaky breath. "Ron, these past few weeks I was so convinced that you'd been unfaithful, which is why I borrowed the cloak from Harry so I can catch you in the act. But because I was so focused on finding anything to back up my theory, I kept ignoring all of the evidence that proved how completely wrong I was. I still think that it would be too easy for you to hurt me. However," she quickly added before he could object, "I believe that because you know that, you would try even harder not to."

"You're damn right," he said heatedly.

Hermione gently took his face in her hands. "I'm sorry for not trusting you. Do you forgive me?"

"I don't know. I might need some convincing." He could feel the smile on her lips as she kissed him and it took all of his restraint not to overwhelm her as her arms went around him, enveloping him in her softness and warmth.

All of the resentment and negativity seemed to melt away as their lips touched, only to be replaced by physical and emotional sensations that only he could illicit and give her. The way his body fit against hers was so familiar and his scent, which she could discern even in a crowded room, comforted her, yet excited her at the same time.

"I love you," he told her when he forced himself to put a bit of distance between them, staring into her eyes as he said it. He needed her to believe him.

"That fact should have overshadowed all of the other ones I'd written down today," she whispered. They kissed again, more avidly this time, as if they were both feasting after going for months without sustenance. His hands were everywhere, scorching her skin through her jumper, and her own fingers were tangled in his hair as she strained to be closer to him. His lips left hers to roam on her face and down her throat. She sighed, as she always did, when he lingered at the scar on her neck. "I love you. Come upstairs with me and I'll show you how much."

Ron glanced at the kitchen clock and saw that they had a couple of hours to spare they had to go to the Burrow. "There goes that brilliant mind of yours again."

Hermione grinned as she pulled him out of the kitchen. "Actually, I'm not thinking with my brain this time." Instead it was her heart that led the way and it was something she resolved to do more often.


End file.
